Stained Keys
by Gentle-Valera-Fox
Summary: When Henry told everyone that he was leaving, Bendy didn't take it very well and ran off. A strange fire consumes the studio, and Bendy ends up alone on the streets. Thirty years later, a letter turns up, telling him to go home. A Henry and the Ink Machine story.
1. The Call

So I have fallen violently in love with thelostmoongazer's awesome role swap "Henry and the Ink Machine" au. So I jumped on the band(trash)wagon with this.

I do not own Bendy and the Ink Machine. That belongs to The Meatly. The HatIM au belongs, as stated before, to thelostmoongazer on tumblr

* * *

September, 1972

Hiding in an alley behind an internet cafe, Bendy tried to juggle a brush, a flashlight, a mirror, and a book all at once. With careful, steady strokes, the toon made sure to copy the image on the page exactly. The lighting made it hard, but determination made it possible.

Satisfied that he had perfectly replicated the picture, Bendy put down the brush and reached for his sunglasses. Pulling his hat down low and his scarf up till it hugged his chin, he picked up the mirror. It was the moment of truth.

But even as he turned it around, his inky heart sank. Even with all that makeup, he still didn't look even remotely human. In fact, he looked even worse than before.

With a muted sob, Bendy rubbed away at his face in frustration. He scrubbed till his sleeves started to get inky and his cheeks were raw. No matter what he tried, it simply wasn't possible—noses were too complex a shape for him to recreate with just contour. He'd need some sort of clay or prosthetic to even get close. His face soured. Not that he could get his gloves on anything like that. And if he could, that still didn't change the fact that his head was too wide, his hands were too big, he was black as night or pale as death, and he didn't even have proper joints.

With a silent curse at the man who made him so inhuman, Bendy stood to him feet. Already, he'd wasted half the night, and he had to skip town soon. He'd have to stock for that; he didn't have enough ink to get himself settled in a new place. Stuffing the useless makeup products into a plastic bag behind the dumpster, he started into the night. There was a whole town for him to hunt up food in, and he still had a few hours before dawn.

* * *

Edith was searching. What she she was searching for, she did not know. Why she was searching, she also did not know. And Edith did not care. For so very long, everything had been so dark and confusing, with yelling and tugging and so much pain. But now things were clear.

Edith was to search.

That's what the Master had been trying to make her do all along. It had been so hard to understand, now that she couldn't hear or see.

Once, a long time ago, Edith could see and hear and touch. Once, she had a beautiful body, and a clear mind. Back when she played a saxophone. Back when she had homemade dumplings for dinner. But those were gone—long gone. Old.

For a long while after the change to New, or maybe only a minute, Edith had been too scared to move. Then all these new senses, new stimuli, came about. Edith couldn't see, but she could _feel._ And it wasn't touch, either. Touch was Old. This _feel_ was New.

It took a lot of time and a lot of pain, but Edith had learned that if the Master gave her a _feel_ to become familiar with, she was to go find its source. Like a dog, hunting rabbit.

Maybe before, the comparison would have been humiliating. Maybe before, Edith would have considered ignoring the Master. But after so long in the unending dark, Edith clung to the one bit of clarity in her dark world like the lifeline it was.

The Master was cruel, depraved, and deserved nothing from Edith—he'd done this to her in the first place, she knew—but Edith couldn't let herself drown in the ink again.

And so, Edith searched. Soon, she would find.

* * *

Bright, sunny rays were just peaking over the horizon as Bendy made his way back to the cafe to pick up his bag. It was really useless to try and look human. His design was just too silly to ever pass as natural.

Wouldn't stop him from trying, though.

Rounding the corner, Bendy pulled up short. Something was off.

Creeping low against the wall, the toon inched towards the entrance of the alley. A woman with her hair all up was making her way to the factory. If this were a bigger city, like the city of his birth, Bendy wouldn't have been so worried. But this was a small town. He'd have to be careful; he couldn't afford to get caught.

Taking careful steps deeper into the gray morning shadows, Bendy slipped on a puddle and fell with a startled gasp. He held his breath, and heard the woman do the same, before hurried footsteps approached the alley.

Instinct, honed from years on his own, took over. All senses focused on not making a sound, he slid behind a dumpster. It was a cramped space, too thin for even a kid to get into. Bendy had to squish his body beyond human limitations, his head flattening to half its original width, but that only made it the perfect hiding spot.

At least, it would have been, if he didn't have company. It was hard to see in the tiny space behind the dumpster, but he saw it immediately. The puddle—the _ink_ puddle—had followed him. Almost as if to confirm it, the liquid burbled and spasmed.

"Hello?" a voice sounding from outside. The woman stepped into the toon's meager sanctuary, "Is someone there? Do you need help?"

Bendy felt his heart pounding in his ears as he stared. A dark hand emerged from the black substance, and a whimper built in Bendy's throat as a body followed. It moved with weird, twitching motions, grasping fingers reaching for the toon's face. Bendy jerked back, ready to bolt, but the footsteps just outside stopped him short.

Swallowing a sob, he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed himself against the wall. Ink dripped down Bendy's chin as he shook, his world white with terror. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes.

Slowly, so slowly, a slimy finger smeared sticky ink on his cheek. Bendy flinched.

Then, suddenly, the air felt clear. The chocking fog that had filled the alley was gone, and Bendy could breathe again. He closed his eyes and sagged with relief. Distantly, he could hear the woman walking down the street, having given up on her search some time ago.

Rolling out of the hole, Bendy rubbed the ink off his cheek. "What was that?" he mumbled, though he already had an idea. Looking back at where the thing had disappeared, a bit of white caught his eye. It was a piece of paper. A letter.

Sudden hope fluttered in the demon's chest. He knew that paper. He was _born_ from that paper. "It's from the studio!" he cheered.

Snatching the envelope off the ground, Bendy tore it open eagerly. The message was clearly written by Joey: messy, short and simple. But the implications were earth-shattering.

 _My dear Bendy,_

 _It seems like so long since you ran away._

 _30 years can feel like forever, can't it?_

 _We all miss you here. Please, come home._

 _I have something I want to show you._

 _Your loving,Father,_

 _ **Joey Drew**_

The grin on Bendy's face grew so big his cheeks hurt. He was going home.

* * *

April, 1942

"Joey! Joey! Look what I drew!" The little demon was bouncing in place, holding a piece of paper up proudly.

Joey leaned over his armrest and grinned widely. "My, that's some mighty fine work there, son. But what are you doing out here and not practicing your routines?"

"Um... I dunno." Bendy looked off to the side.

"Bendy..." Joey trailed off with a warning.

"I'm sorry, Joey—I really am!—But Henry just gotta new brush fo'me an' I wanted to draw you! It's you, see?"

"I do see, my devil darlin', but I'd rather see your progress on that new step I taught you." Joey wheeled his chair to the front of his desk. "Now, put those down and show me where you're at."

Bendy pouted, but perked up quickly. Placing his brush and drawing on the desk, he asked, "Can I show you some'a my moves, too?"

"Hmm, if there's time."

And so the two fell into the familiar pattern of critic and instruction. It was hard, sometimes, because Joey couldn't actually show Bendy what to do, but that was alright. They were used to it. And besides, Bendy didn't mind working hard for Joey.

Bendy was bouncing through the routine for the fifth time when they were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Joey? Do you have a second?" It was Henry.

"Of course, Ross," Joey turned his chair away from Bendy, "Come on in."

The door opened slowly, and the pensive look on Henry's face told Bendy that he didn't have good news. Joey caught on to that too. His eyes zeroed in on the official looking letter in Henry's hands.

"Bendy, my little darlin,' I do believe it's getting late." Joey said, eyes not leaving the letter, "Why don't you hop along to bed, now?"

Bendy opened his mouth to protest, but Henry cut him off, "Tell you what, there's a jar of ink in my desk. Go on and grab it, and head on upstairs. I'll come by later to tuck you in, okay?"

Now that both men had sided against him, Bendy know he stood no chance, "Okay."

Halfway down the hall, Bendy realized he didn't have his brush and picture. They were still on Joey's desk. Backtracking quietly, the toon found himself stopped by a crash. It came from Joey's office.

What was that? Was someone hurt? Bendy sprinted over the last few feet to the door, dread in his heart.

Shadows danced through the frosted window. Muffled yelling surprised Bendy with its intensity. The doorknob twisted, and the door started to open. Bendy could hear what Joey and Henry were saying clearly, now.

"It's a _draft_ Joey. I can't ignore it. I have to go!"

"No, you don't! I can help you. They won't remember anything, there will be no trouble, you just have to trust me."

"And you'll what? Brainwash the government with your voodoo? Oh, don't play stupid with me, Drew. You can't get a whole studio to keep a secret like the toons. Not without some sort of spell."

"And what if I did? Look around. Our people are happy! They love coming to work. And it's not like my spell changed who they are or anything. It just...convinced them that they are part of something more. _We_ are part of something more, Henry. Don't throw it all away for some idiotic war."

"Joey...You're sick." The door opened farther.

"So help me Ross, if you walk out that door, don't you dare try to come back!"

Henry didn't say a word, leaving the door open behind him, he walked out of the studio without looking back.

He never saw the little black and white blur follow him out the door. Bendy watched his favorite animator climb into his car and start to back out. For a moment, he hovered by the door. Tires squealed as Henry took off.

It couldn't end, not like this. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Bendy took off after the vehicle. He had to get Henry back. No matter what.


	2. Going Home

Welp, here's the second installment. I wasn't too happy with the appendix thing I had going on, so I changed both here, and in the last chapter.

I don't own Bendy and the Ink machine, or the HatIM au.

* * *

The studio looked even worse than Bendy remembered. Wooden walls had rotted after the fire, causing the whole second and third stories to cave in. Thick, dark ivy knotted around the wall and gate, partially blocking the view of the first story, but it couldn't be in any better condition. Bendy looked at his letter, wondering once again if Joey meant somewhere else. But there was no other place Bendy thought of as home.

Slipping the letter back into his jacket, he checked the road around him for people and crept to the heavy iron gate. Bendy hadn't ever seen the outside of the building before it burned down, except once at night, but the only other gate he'd seen had been in front of a government lab.

The gates were solid, and the bars were set too closely together for Bendy to squish between them, so he went to go look at the hinges. If he could break one, he'd be able to get in. Rough, rusted metal greeted him, and Bendy was just starting to look for a rock when he saw a faded trail of ink leading around the back.

Curious, he followed it.

On the far side of the wall there was a tunnel under the masonry. Dank air wafted from the hole, but Bendy could see light on the other side.

With a whispered, "Here goes," Bendy took a step back and plunged into the hole.

The cramped space was hard to crawl through. Bendy almost got stuck a time or two. He'd have a moment of panic before he could get his arms in front and pull himself free. Dirt invaded his mouth despite his best efforts.

Reaching the end, Bendy pulled himself up with a great heave of air. He spat. He used his tongue to clear his teeth. Afterwards, he pulled off his jacket, giving it a careful shake and brush down. Fingering the lining, Bendy grimaced at the ink stains on the inside. It had been a good few days since he'd last had a decent dose of ink, and so his coat had begun sticking to his softening skin.

That was okay, though, Bendy thought. Joey would have ink. And if he didn't, there was always the ink machine.

Wading through the overgrown lawn, Bendy could finally see the whole building. Yes, the burned out floors had completely collapsed, but they were resting solidly on the second level, leaving the ground floor remarkably intact. Not safe, not by any stretch of the imagination, but... the door looked like it would open.

The weeds gave way suddenly. Bendy stopped on a dime. Bare ground lay between him and the studio—not one stalk of grass grew there. A shiver ran down the demon's spine, but he brushed it off. "It's nothin'," he told himself, "They just, nevah broke up the ground or whatnot, afta' all th' big machines an' stuff built the place and packed down th' dirt."

Still, a tingle went through him as he stepped on the dirt. It felt like that thing in the alley: smothering and wrong. He tensed, but nothing happened. Attempting to laugh off his unease he said, "See? Joey wouldn' waste anythin' on a bunch a'weeds. Who needs them, anyway?"

He still ran to the door.

The wood opened easily at his touch. "Joey?" Bendy tried to yell, but his voice only came out as a whisper. He coughed and tried again, "Joey! Where are ya?"

For a long moment, Bendy couldn't bring himself to step inside. Used as he was to the bright afternoon sun, he'd be blind in the dark studio. But that wasn't what made him hesitate.

"Come on!" he hissed to himself. "It's Joey, he'd never hurt me. And he's not dead, so the rest prob'ly aren't neither. so I can't let a lil' dark scare me off!"

Two steps in, and the door slammed shut, almost knocking Bendy off his feet. The echoing thuds held a sense of finality, that his doom had been sealed same as all the lost employees. Bendy gulped, and turned away. The freaky door could wait. Joey was alive!

Excitement thrilled through him, and Bendy took off. His eyes hadn't adjusted to the gloom yet, but that didn't matter. This was his home. He knew it like the back of his hand. Dull black shoes eagerly traced the familiar path to the back of the studio, to Joey's office.

"Joey? Joey, I'm home! I thought ya all were dead, Joey. If I'da known, I swear I nevah would'a..." Bendy paused, coming to a stop. "What happened ta th' door?"

Where Joey's office had been, was now nothing but a blank wall. Bendy placed his hand on the wood. Bold word were written in ink. "'Th' creator lied t' us'?"

Unease built in the toon's stomach. "This... this ain't right. Joey's s'pose ta _be_ here. I—what's goin' _on?"_

He turned around to the ink machine. It was off. Seeing the lifeless contraption brought Bendy's hunger back powerfully. He needed ink, and soon.

Back before the fire, Bendy had often tagged along behind Wally as he went about fixing things. It was loads of fun, and Bendy learned a lot! So he was confidant he could start up the machine. He had to start the ink flow, and then hit the power.

It was only a short walk to the flow control, and Bendy drug a chair over so he could reach the lever.

He put a hand on it and grimaced. Technically, he wasn't supposed to mess with this without a grownup. Wally had to turn this off whenever he was fixing the pipes, and the one time Bendy had flipped the switch without asking, he'd sprayed Sammy with ink. Bendy still remembered the dressing down the music director had given him for that. Sammy wouldn't let him into the music department for weeks.

But... Bendy really needed that ink.

"Welp," he sang, "There ain't nothin' fer it, I guess. Sorry Sammy," and he put his back to the lever and shoved. It gave way without any resistance, making Bendy overbalance and fall.

Bendy looked up at the machinery in abject confusion. Where was the ink pressure? He glanced at an indicator light. "Th-the power's out? But-but...how'm I gunna turn on th' machine now?"

A loose glob of ink ran down Bendy's tail and he swallowed thickly. "Come on, Bends, there has ta be ink somewhere. How 'bout you go check Henry's desk. There migh' be some in the drawer. 'Least, there bettah be."

Most of the animators worked upstairs, far away from the noisy sound department. But not Henry. His desk was off the original projector room. It was a really cramped space, but Henry never complained. There was no other space left on the main floor, and Henry refused to use an upstairs office. Joey wouldn't be able to reach him there.

Instead, he converted an old storage room into a makeshift office and used the space outside as a board room. That way, Joey didn't have to be carried up and down the stairs all the time. Henry had always been considerate like that.

Bendy didn't race through the studio again. His limbs were too weak. But now that he had slowed down, he could finally get a good look at all the little things that had been bugging him when he first arrived. The studio looked animated, as if someone had drawn it by hand. Thick lines traced the boards. Oddly bent nails stuck out of random places. Doorways sat at off angles, and they were all identical, down to the tiny chips in the top leftmost corners.

The effect would have been pleasing, endearing, were it not in reality.

Here, in a forgotten studio, it was unnerving. In fact, the lighting and atmosphere brought Bendy back to the some of the scary episodes Joey had been so fond of, the kind where things tended to jump out and chase the devil around. Back then, it was a good joke, one Bendy enjoyed as much as his audience. No one was laughing now.

Ink dripped off Bendy's horns and into his eyes. Frowning, he wiped it away, and focused his attention on the closet like space. "What happened here?"

Henry's desk was right where it was supposed to be, with the old cutout grinning on the side, but ink covered the space. It blanketed the desk completely, trailed up the walls, and settled in heaps on the ground.

The only thing left mostly untouched was the cutout. Ink stained the floor around it, but hovered a careful distance away, as if afraid of dirtying it. One bit of ink ran down the top, as if someone had poured a small jar of it over the head. It was...sweet, in a terrible creepy way.

Bendy gingerly stepped onto the inky mess. It crackled under his foot, but it was solid and held his weight. The toon didn't want to think about how long the ink had to have sat there for such big puddles to dry through like that. Probably a decade or two.

Ink had glued the drawer shut, and Bendy braced himself to give it a good yank. The draw gave way, and sent Bendy flying across the room. He sat down hard, blinking, before realizing that he was holding the drawer. Turning it over quickly, he felt a wave of disappointment to find it empty, only to have a jar of ink bounce off his head.

Eagerly popping the cork off, poured the ink into his mouth. It was vile. He fought to swallow the coagulated blobs that had formed, like in curdled milk. "How-how old is this stuff? Nevah mind, I don' wanna know."

Pocketing the jar, Bendy decided to leave it as a last resort. First he'd go see if there was any way to jumpstart the machine.

He looked around one last time at the tiny desk. It had been his birthplace. What had happened to it?

And what had happened to Henry?

* * *

April, 1942

Henry stalked down the hallway of the studio, doing his best to return the smiles of his co-workers—former co-workers. He still hadn't broken the news to them, and it looked like Joey hadn't either. Likely, the cripple was trying to pretend that the whole thing was a joke, and the Henry hadn't been drafted into the Great War. Or at least, that he wasn't planning on going.

But Henry had been drafted, and he was going, so Joey was just going to have to get over it.

Henry had hoped that he'd be able to come back to work after his service, but Joey... Well, that didn't seem all that likely anymore. In fact, the only reason Joey had agreed to let him come back in at all was because Henry had forgotten his papers in Joey's office.

Reaching the frosted glass, Henry knocked, cautiously. The light was out, so maybe Joey wasn't there.

"Come in," Joey called.

Henry fought back a flinch. The older man had never sounded so cold, before.

When he opened the door, Henry's first instinct was to hit the light, but the switch didn't work. Joey was on the opposite side of his office from his desk, which was odd, because there was nothing but a couple of bookshelves there. A candle sat on a end table, providing the sole illumination for the room. Joey used one hand to wheel his chair around. He held a book in his other hand.

"Good. You are right on time."

"What is this, Drew?"

"I told you, don't you dare come back. I knew you would though, these documents are rather nessicary, aren't they?" he held up a folder.

Henry's eyes lit with realization. "You kept it on purpose."

"Of course. I needed you to come back. And now that you're here, the real show can begin."

With those words he snatched up the candle and threw it to the floor. A pentagram burst into flames. Dark runes spiderwebbed away from the fire, and Henry watched as the circled and anchored into the nearly forgotten ink machine behind him. The building shook and warped, reforming itself in accourdence with its masters whim.

Flames rose higher and higher into the sky, and the inhabitants of the building ran to take shelter in the newly formed basement. The way shut behind them.

And thus all of Sillyvision Studios fell to the mercy of Joey Drew.


End file.
